Nancy cremated her ex-husband in Key West this week. I thought his death might be a sign from on high that it's safe for her to move back from Ocala the Land of Frost, Up North but she says it's "too late" to live in Key West anymore. It was great when she lived here tending her drunken husband but not anymore. Being away, she says, makes her realise just how dirty Key West is. "Dirty " is a euphemism for the epidemic of street people. Just like this dude sleeping on the Monument at the corner of Elizabeth and Greene Streets, surrounded by tourists trying to peruse their maps and study the inscription. He just snoozes the day away, alongside his belongings.
To be a homeless citizen in Key West offers opportunities for waterfront living, and though I would find it horribly dull to sit and stare with nothing to do all day our hcs revel in the void. They gather at Higgs Beach at the tables and talk and drink and fight and live out their little dramas like street performances that scare off families and cause people to...call the police.
They piss someone off, a parent perhaps taking their kids to play at Astro City playground across the street, and we respond and move the hcs to another location. Lovely Simonton Beach sounds like a nice spot. 
Which only looks like a park, an ideal spot to hang out and chill during a lunch break. Its actually these hotel charlie's living room:
The city of Key West and Monroe county provide free shelter in air conditioned tent-dormitories on Stock island conveniently located next to the Sheriff's office. There the working poor of the island can shower, use the lockers and the phone, collect mail, do laundry and show up for work each day as well groomed as a housed worker. The people who litter our streets and beaches aren't working poor, they are seasonal derelicts many of whom travel down in the winter and some of whom leave in the spring. There is no plan to deal with the problem except the rather draconian idea of removing park benches so people can't sleep on them. 
Like at Bayview Park, across the street from the police station. 
Welcome to Key West, and our signs are more suggestions than actual requirements, apparently.
It is illegal to deny people access to parks and streets just because they are unkempt or homeless, and there are no laws against sleeping during the day in public places. Too bad its too hot to keep the door closed on this van occupied by a near naked body.
Subtlety isn't a priority of homeless citizens, they like to hang it all out and give our parks a special flavor. 
Like a refugee camp.At night it is illegal to park on the streets and sleep so the campers park at Publix, a private parking lot, or at Albertsons, both in New Town and spend the night there before returning to White Street at Higgs Beach for some sea-side fun at the AIDS Memorial by White Street Pier.
The residentially challenged are here for the winter and they may not have houses but they have homes, all around the four mile long island:
at Higgs Beach,
at Rest Beach,
at Bayview Park.
It beats me what the answer is, and my preferred suggestion is that residential citizens gather up their picnic stuff and head out en masse to take back their beaches and parks. I used to make a point of taking a seat at Rest Beach or Bayview Park and reading a book during my lunch break, but instead city leaders took away the tables hijacked by the hcs and thus leave the park unusable by anybody. So now I pay to hang out at Fort Zachary, a state park where the modest entrance fee keeps out the riff-raff.
Just another reality of daily life in Paradise, where having a home is an overrated commodity.
But to step out of work a few minutes before six in the evening and still be riding out of the parking lot in daylight, why that's the first sign of summer around here. In Key West the seasons aren't entirely measured by ambient temperature. Its true we do get cold fronts and temperatures drop as the clouds cover the skies and the winds pick up.
But, the big deal really is the level of the humidity. Summer time is warm day and night and the moisture in the air is like a muslin cloth over one's face. In winter the cloth is whipped away and one's skin dries up and long work pants no longer seem a burden. In between fronts temperatures rise, the sun comes out and the coastal waters glow their usual shades of turquoise, all along Highway One.
For the anxious tourist crossing yet another highway bridge on the way down the yellow brick road to Key West, that green marker shows its just 28 more miles to the corner of Whitehead and Fleming Streets. And if they're lucky they arrive as the cold blows away and the sun comes out.
This is a cloudy gray threatening day along Highway One at Big Coppitt, around Mile Marker 11. Compare that to scenes of devastation and electric mittens in the dismal reports from elsewhere around the US. At least I know how well off I am, its hard to take this place for granted. And no, I still don't miss snow.
I know where I'm going to get my next vehicle. Carmax had us out the door in the Chrysler with a proper tag within an hour of deciding to buy. The price was fixed at $13,000 and due to her extensive research my wife knew that was a decent price for a 2004 with 36,000 miles on it so she was happy. The dealer lets you know ahead of time their fee is $149 so there are no hidden dealer prep fees and all that other rubbish plus they have an in house DMV office so the tag application was processed right there and they stuck it on the car for us. Plus we got our loan online in 5 minutes without having to haggle with a finance specialist and fill out reams of paperwork. At 7.45 percent they were 1.5 points lower than the interest for a new car at Potamkin across the street. The whole transaction was amazingly simple and above board. I had never heard of CarMax before. In my defense I hate buying and selling vehicles and they make it too easy. And they had a rather toothsome white Thunderbird on the lot at $21,000...
On the way home I enjoyed a private treat when a Moto Guzzi V11 Sport in the Coppa Italia red white and green livery worked its way through the traffic jam on the Dolphin Expressway. I got a surprise when he pulled alongside and I discovered a real motorcycle not just another boring crotch rocket. Naturally as I readied the camera he changed lanes and all I got was a quick shot in the Nissan's mirror. That set me to drooling almost as badly as my wife who was grinning madly while driving under the clear blue sky in her own car. The other rearview picture of the day was of my wife enjoying a sunny 75 degree Miami evening as she followed me home.
In fact she came home very happy after three hours cruising with the top down. I knew she'd missed her last convertible, a Camaro we'd had in California,
and it was past time for her to get another. And I wasn't wrong; there's a change.
Snowbird season is the time for surprises, when people from Up North wheel out their abandoned rides from sheds and garages and press them into service as a way to get around a town clogged with cars and nowhere to park. The other day I was in New Town on a mission of some sort and when I came out of the store look what had pulled up alongside me. 
I snapped a picture, from instinct not really sure why this classic unloved Honda appealed to me. It just did in some subliminal way. And it was only yesterday during my lunch break at Fort Zachary Taylor Park that the answer hit me. This is the Era Of The Classics. I reached for my blog...
Cycle was dismissive of this 750cc recreation of the classic Italian sportbike of 40 years ago thanks to its "modest" 750cc capacity which proves they know how to completely miss the point. But I doubt I will ever buy a Moto Guzzi in the US thanks to their lackadaisical "network" of dealers which is a terrible shame. But this is motorcycling as I remember it, and I'm glad Triumph is led by a motorcycle loving businessman who knows how to stay solvent. 
Its been a long weekend at work, and as this is my fourth day in a row of taking phone calls from the distressed I feel like a photo tour of last weekend's walk around the capital of the Dominican Republic. Christopher Columbus founded the capital city of the country he called Hispaniola, which island he so named because he thought that its verdant coastal plains looked like the homeland of his sponsors in Spain. He called the city Santo Domingo, and domingo means Sunday in Spanish. In Columbus' native Italian domenica also means Sunday, so for whatever reason this Dominican Republic is tied into one particular day of the week. I had thought it was related to Easter Sunday, but Columbus landed here in December. We took our self-guided tour on a Saturday, because that was when we were there. Here's Columbus hailing a taxi while a pigeon rests on his head:
Downtown Santa Domingo is a wild and crazy place as we shall see, but the heart of the city hidden behind medieval walls is a taste of old world charm. Its perched on the corner of the cliff overlooking the mouth of the river pouring out into the Caribbean Sea, a place where the streets are narrow and clogged with cars, lined with tourist knick-knack shops and assorted attractions. There is even a long straight street called "The Count", El Conde, that has been transformed into a splendid pedestrian mall.
We used the Lonely Planet guide Of course the further you get from these delights the tougher the scene gets. Suburban Santo Domingo, alongside the four lane highway leaving town looks like this:
So, in my opinion one wants to be wealthy in the DR, and live in an apartment somewhere around here, serene at night, lovely without neon, littered with top rate restaurants offering stewed crab which my wife enjoyed, and stewed goat which went down a treat for me with a pile of mashed potatoes, and an ice cold Brahma beer:
The guide book also gave us the location of a fine breakfast hole-in-the-wall on El Conde, the Cafetera Colonial which served up omelettes and cafe con leche in the same location that comforted the Socialist refugees from Franco's Spain after he defeated the Republic in 1939. That historic plaque on the wall outside the cafe was a piquant extra on my wife's breakfast omelette.
After breakfast we strolled El Conde enjoying the cool morning air and the bustle of Saturday morning in the city. We enjoy bringing home a little something from our trips to stick on our walls and my wife likes bargaining so she checked out the Taino-style art on the street.
Our stroll led us past churches and museums, shops selling Amber (yellow) and Larimar (sky blue) jewelery and inevitably to the Square of Hispanic-ness (Plaza de la Hispanidad) above the old city walls overlooking the cruise ship dock on the river.
It was being tarted up for the New Year's celebrations to come but it struck me as rather sterile and unappealing. Compared for instance to the hustle and bustle of Avenida Mella where all the action was loud and brash. I have no idea what this dude was offering to his enraptured audience, but everyone could hear him:
Street vendors were setting up food to go, including delicious fried chicken, fried slices of spam, remarkable Dominican sausages and the ubiquitous tostones, slices of savory fried plantains:
Sidewalk vendors are an inevitable part of life in a country with high rates of unemployment, but we found a simple "No thanks," cleared the way.
We made our way to the covered mercado where the guidebook bless its little heart, advised us that bargaining was the order of the day. My wife loves to bargain so I knew we were in for some tough times ahead. The market was absolutely packed with stalls tightly squeezed in, and we had to shuffle down these narrow alleys surrounded by impatient shop keepers.
There weren't any other gringos, and not many customers generally at that hour, as far as I could tell, so we were prized bait. My wife bargained valiantly, a practice I find distasteful (much to her scorn), especially in a hard up Third World market. Noblesse oblige, she says and blames my well-to-do upbringing!
And if you needed to spruce up your home there were aerosols aplenty with all the necessary variations. The pink one caught my eye as it's supposed to be a love potion. I didn't have the nerve to ask how it might be applied. I imagined a bunch of friends coming over for dinner, exhibiting my aerosol and who knew what the results might be? Divorce? Suicide? Another love potion...?
To think the ancient art of Santeria has been reduced to an aerosol. Whatever will they think of next? Why, a wooden fighting cock of course.
I think Key West and its chickens could use some of these as public art works scattered in the ruined flowerbeds around town. 
We tried some of the fried chicken shown earlier, I like to eat locally and though baseball and hot dogs are big news in the Dominican Republic local chicken and sausage seems somehow more appropriate. 
Instead my indefatigable wife found a bus stop where the gua-guas (minibuses) gathered and we ended up taking a half-dollar (15 peso) ride that lasted about ten minutes in wild traffic across the river to the Faro a Colon, Columbus' Lighthouse.
The huge white block on a hill is Columbus's reputed grave site (disputed by Spain and Italy) inside a massive monument built to celebrate 500 years of Europeans in the Americas. Fascinating stuff but that is a story for another day.